


He Brings Out The Music In Me

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 17:27:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14878154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A series of short pieces, over a wide span of time, all involving music.  While it all has an impact on many of the characters, Major Kevin Richards and his sister may just never recover!1.The Music Returns, 'Some Days Are Diamond, Some Days Are Stone'2.Paris When It Sizzles, ''Soul on Fire', 'Smoke Gets In Your Eyes', 'How Deep Is The Ocean'3.True Confession, 'But When I Dream'4.Just The Two Of Us, 'Slow Dancing'5.Misunderstanding, 'You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore', 'Where Will The Words Come From'6.Shock Therapy!  'Smoke Gets In Your Eyes', 'Soul on Fire', 'Before He Cheats', 'Dirty Laundry', 'Two Black Cadillacs', 'I'll Come Back As Another Woman', 'Fire', 'Hot Stuff', 'Slow Hand'7.Out Of The Mouths of Babes, 'I Need A Hero'





	1. The Music Returns

**Author's Note:**

> Major musical anachronism alert! Most, though not all, of the songs referenced in this and in several other (past, current and upcoming) stories ('My Funny Valentine', 'Music Nights at the Pub', 'Just To Be Your Man', and other stories) are from much more recent times. Frankly, most audiences would have been wildly non-accepting of any of the the newer ones. BUT for the purpose of the stories, and as a bit of a challenge to myself to see how many songs I could come up with that fit in with and enhanced the story lines, the customers at the pub and elsewhere are more understanding, more welcoming - hell, in most cases, they have a ball! No disrespect is meant to the composers or singers who wrote or performed any of these songs; any actual song titles are to give the reader a 'soundtrack', if you will, in their minds. Neither Meghada nor myself are making any claim that she actually wrote any of these, well, anywhere except possibly in this fictional landscape.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She never expected the music to come back to her, but now somehow the presence of a small blond Englishman come to perch on her wall has changed all that. And if the music could return, what other miracles could be waiting for her?

"That has to be awfully cold and damp and hard, now the weather's turned; perhaps you'd be more comfortable in the chair in the sunshine. I've tea and biscuits, I'll be back out with them in just a minute or two."

He blinked rapidly, wondering who she was talking to. He'd been here about twenty minutes or so, perched as usual on top of the stone wall, back where the trees overhung, creating shadowed darkness. He frowned, not liking to think someone was intruding on what he had come to think of as 'his time', those times he visited here, without her knowing. If someone else was here, he'd have to leave, and these stealthy visits, well, they'd come to mean a lot to him.

He would sit up here, arms wrapped around his bent legs, chin resting on his knees, pretend she was playing her guitar just for him, singing her songs just for him. She talked to herself sometimes as she worked in the garden or wrote on that pad she kept on the table, and he answered her, though just in his head, and the conversations, well, they were almost real. Maybe more real that the ones he had with most people out loud. Even he realized how totally mad that sounded, but wasn't sure he cared. He'd tried staying once when there'd been someone else there, but when he tried to join in the conversation, in his head, it hadn't worked, and he'd just sat there, feeling cold and empty and lonely til he'd given up, and eased his way back over the wall again.

Odd, though, he didn't SEE anyone now, hadn't since he'd gotten there; perhaps someone had come before he had, was still in the cottage, but why they'd be still in there, with her out here working, he couldn't understand, why they wouldn't want to be with her if they had the chance. He did; he came whenever he could, which wasn't all that often what with the missions and the training and the being restricted to quarters so much and all, and of course he didn't come at night, when she'd be closed away inside, but otherwise, when he could, he did. Now he waited for her to come back out, to see who was with her, but she was still alone.

The tray in her hand, though, it had two cups along with the tea pot and that round tin and such. She sat it down on the round metal table, laid things out neatly and turned and looked directly at him, and smiled, "did you not want to sit here? Would you prefer I hand yours up to you then?" with a touch of disappointment in her voice.

He froze, {"she's talking to me? How? She shouldn't even be able to see me back here in the shadows! And why? They say she doesn't welcome visitors, why would she . . ."} but he stopped questioning when she cocked her head at him, and walked a few steps closer, held out her hand in welcome, and he eased himself down from the wall, dusting himself off, and cautiously made his way forward, ready to dash back and over the wall if he needed to.

{"They say down at the pub, others who came here without an invite, left by ambulance,"} and he wondered vaguely if there was an ambulance in his immediate future, but unable to deny the pull, the need to be closer to her. And then, he realized, he'd just been given an invite, which made no sense, no sense at all! He wondered if he finally HAD gone mad.

{"Finally! I though he might be getting to the point where I wouldn't frighten him away if I spoke. I'm probably quite mad, of course; I make such a point of not allowing visitors, strangers or not, but this one, this one feels right, somehow. I like having him here; when I look up at that corner and I don't see him, I'm disappointed anymore. I'm not sure how long he's been coming here, perching on my wall; I think I felt him, a strangely comforting, rather enticing presence, before I spotted him, back there in the shadows; I think maybe he stayed on the other side of the wall for awhile even before he moved to that spot on top. It's been some time; when I first caught a glimpse, I pretended he was one of the Fair Folke, or maybe a friendly gargoyle, or a house brownie; I say pretend as supposedly those are long absent from this part of England, though I suppose there could be an isolated pocket here or there. For the most part though, cold iron seems to have chased them all away, cold iron and the Outlander's Christian god, and not for any good purpose or to any good result that I can see."}

{"There was never a feeling of danger, a threat from him, my visitor; it was more as if I'd been waiting for him, expecting him to come. Then, as I became more accustomed to his presence, that hint, that slight scent of wildness, the untamed came through, and I wondered if he was a shifter, one of the forest creatures able to change to manshape for awhile, or sometimes the other way around. I've met a few of those, they have that same touch of mint and musk, especially the wolves and foxes and such, though the hint of sage, that was new to me."}

{"He only comes and stays when I'm alone; well, that's most of the time, me not welcoming visitors other than family, and them not coming so often; I know he was here when Cally visited that time, but he didn't stay long. In fact, he disappeared back over the wall so quickly, I wondered, not for the first time, if he was real, or only a figment of my imagination. I wondered, but for some reason, the thought that I might be going mad, it didn't bother me, not if it meant he'd come back again. It was more important that he come back, far more important than the issue of my questionable sanity. It was only when Cally asked, quietly, "and who is he?" that I realized she'd seen him too, that he was real, and the sharp, bright gladness that brought, it shocked even me. I remember looking at her, slowly, with the smile growing on my face, "I don't know, but I think maybe he's mine, or perhaps could be," and her eyes widened, then shone with gladness for me, and we talked of other things, but with the thought of my visitor always close at hand.}

She'd finally come to know his name, well the name he went by, a name telling what he DID, where his skills lay, and where he stayed, and why he was in Brandonshire. He told her reluctantly, watching out of the corner of his eye, as if the knowing would cause her to send him away, yet being strangely reluctant to deceive her, and he seemed both relieved and bewildered when she hadn't seemed bothered or concerned by what he told her.

They stayed in the garden, or under the long roof of the flagstone paved area if it was damp, not venturing into the cottage; they were both comfortable out here, and she found she still thought of him as a wildling, one who needed to be handled cautiously, gently til he became comfortable with her, trusted her enough not to see the walls of the cottage as a trap, but as a shelter. She did hope that point came before the cold of winter; she'd seen him shiver on just a slightly chilly day, and knew he felt the cold; the cottage would be better suited come then, if she could ease him that far along.

She had listened carefully, though without drawing attention to her interest, as the locals spoke of the men at the Mansion; she watched from that corner table at the pub when he and the others ventured there when she made her occasional visit; she found herself visiting more often, just in the hopes of seeing him, seeing them, watching them interact. She'd lost count the number of times they brought a smile to her face. She learned much, and she wanted, needed to learn more. Her brother Patrick was able to help, as were two or three of her cousins embedded in the guts of HQ up in London.

She started to get indignant at some of what she heard, contrasting that with the man who was becoming a feature in her garden, the men she saw at the pub, but remembered her own file, with which she was quite familiar, and how true and yet untrue that information was. Getting annoyed at HQ for their blindness, the way their values differed from her own, well, that was like getting annoyed with water for being wet, a waste of time and energy.

She did know, however, just how long it was from his first visit to the day she sat in the garden, her pad in front of her, pencil in hand, and realized she'd just written a song, words complete, music streaming out of her like a valve had just been opened. She almost stopped breathing with the shock.

It had been sometime toward the end of her first Contact when that reservoir had seemed to dry up, more than four long years ago, when any music that came from her had to be forced, and nothing new, only a re-singing of those she'd already written, had already known. Now, the only new things she sung were those she'd heard elsewhere and decided would be useful for one of her missions, or which just caught her fancy. Nothing of her own, nothing that came to her the way the music used to come, naturally, as if it were a part of her.

Now, there it was in front of her, words, music, and she hurried to get her guitar and put her fingers to bringing it to the open air, and when it was finished, she cried at the return of something she thought she'd lost forever. She even knew where it came from, that last conversation they'd had, when they talked quietly about truth and the mere appearance of truth, about the fear of losing yourself, about having to hide who you were, how just getting through the day is sometimes all you can do, all you could hope for. (Think 'Some Days Are Diamonds, Some Days Are Stone') Somehow, that all came together into this, this miracle, and she played it again, more confidently again, this time adding the words, and it felt good!

The music, it had returned! Neil would have said it wasn't 'commercial' and she didn't care! She'd never liked writing just for that purpose, though he'd wanted her to; she wrote what was in her heart, in her mind, and this, she thought it was good, and she sent up prayers of thankfulness and prayers of blessing to the Sweet Mother into the cool night. Now, to see if HE thought it was good, if he thought it said what it should say.

He couldn't believe it. He'd come, perched in his usual spot til he knew she was home, and she'd come out of the kitchen door as if she'd heard him, though he'd not made a sound. She smiled at him, and he swarmed down the wall, drawn to that smile like to sunshine beckoning from where he sat in the shadows. He'd finally remembered where he'd seen that smile before, years ago in the East End when a woman-child, one with the same last name but different first, who looked so much like her had spent a year; even then, he'd liked that smile, though it hadn't been directed at him but at the tall dark haired slight of hand expert she was studying with; he remembered being slightly envious of the caring in that smile. He liked it even more now, now that it was from her, knowing that it was meant just for him.

She made tea, they talked, she told him she'd written a new song, she thought it was what they'd talked about, but wanted him to tell her if she'd gotten it right, said it right. He listened, stunned. How did she do that? Take the mixed up mess of his feelings and turn them into something like that? He looked up, almost afraid of what he'd see.

{"If she can see that much . . ."} afraid to see, he didn't know quite what, contempt, pity, amusement, even cool detachment would have hurt.

None of that, though, only an anxious waiting, "it was what I was feeling, what I've been feeling for so long, I just didn't know . . . I haven't written anything, been ABLE to write anything for so very long. And then, after we talked, it . . . It was just there, like the music used to be there, just waiting to be put to paper."

She smiled at him, still anxious, still waiting for him, and then he was smiling at her, his eyes shining, "it's right, 'Gaida" not realizing he'd used something other than her full name, used something solely his own, how HE thought of her, "it's just right!"

And she threw back her head and laughed, with pure joy, and he laughed with her. He wanted to touch her then, pull her into his arms, hug her tightly to him, whirl her in his arms, but he knew better than to do that, at least for real. So he did it in his mind, in his heart, and didn't understand the glow that now shone in her brown gold eyes, the glow that said she'd felt those arms, that hug, all the way to her soul, and she rejoiced at the feel.


	2. Paris When It Sizzles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission that takes the team to one of the hot spots of occupied Paris leads to new discoveries, and Goniff is torn between being pleased and not-so-pleased at the biggest discovery of all.

It was going wrong, Goniff could tell. Actor was supposed to be in position to get the film from the contact, he was the one the contact had a description for, and so the only one who could make the pickup, but he'd been cornered by those German officers before he could get there. No, not cornered like captured, at least not yet, but they'd decided he looked like someone they used to know, and being half-drunk, had brought them into their conversation and he wasn't able to break free without causing a stir. He was nowhere near where the contact would be looking for him to be. The Warden was a few feet away, and though not many could tell, Goniff knew he was getting concerned, knowing they were on a schedule, that if they didn't get this done and done quickly, their exit plan was shot to hell and back.

As for him, he just wanted all of them out of there, safely, and back at the Mansion! If they couldn't pull this off, well, it wouldn't be the first time; it wasn't like following a road map, where if you followed the directions, you got where you were going; no, sometimes, things happened, not that the Brass ever understood that, acourse. Problem was, the Warden, well, he had this streak of stubbornness that made it really hard for him to pull the plug.

Goniff tugged at the now too-tight collar on his sleek evening clothes, and barely kept himself from running a nervous hand through his carefully combed hair. {"Bloody 'ell! Now what?"} risking a quick glance over at Lynn, standing at the end of the bar close to the stage. He frowned at the rapt look on the woman's face, and following her line of view noticed the singer now picking up the microphone. {"Well, she's a looker, alright, and that tight green dress, it don't leave much to the imagination. And she's a redhead; I like that, though never did so much before. Still, odd for Lynn to be looking at 'er like that,"} he puzzled. 

The music started, and so did he, recognizing it from something he'd been hearing Meghada singing the past couple of weeks, had teased her about as not being her usual, her laughing and saying she needed to see if she could manage something like this. (Think 'Soul on Fire - LaVerne Baker style, followed by 'Smoke Gets In Your Eyes') The cold sweat broke out on his body as he recognized more than the song, as he recognized the voice.

{"Oh, bloody 'ell, what's she doing 'ere??!"} He took a closer look and groaned inside. He'd never seen her in anything other than what she wore at the cottage, what she wore in the village, which while it was always attractive, neat and clean and tidy, it certainly was never anything anywhere near like this! He'd never seen her like this. Never seen her with her hair all loose like that either, making you want to run your fingers through it, with the makeup changing her pleasing, welcoming face to this, this temptress! He found this new look made him uneasy, thinking he really preferred her the other way, that she was more HIS the other way, and the idea of all these other men seeing her like this, well, he wasn't sure how THAT made him feel, but whatever you wanted to call it, it wasn't something he liked, no, not at all. She finished with that one, switching to another he knew from the garden. (Think 'How Deep is the Ocean')

He watched frozen as the sultry torch singer continued to sidle her way through the room, smiling up into the faces of the men oggling her as she sang, them trying to see down that low-cut dress, trying to get closer to her. Finally, as he swallowed deeply, never having taken his eyes off her, {"but nothing in that to cause suspicion, doubt any man in 'ere is looking anywhere else but at 'er!"} she came closer, closer, til she was standing, swaying, right in front of him, that smile, inviting, enticing, full of meaning.

She continued her song, her voice even deeper, more husky in parts, as if singing to him alone, and while he stood there, unable to move, she reached out one hand, gently, seductively tracing his lips, then one cheekbone, leaning into him til he could feel her body against his. He was losing himself in her eyes, when he saw them change, speak to him somehow, and at the same time he felt that tiny touch, and he knew the film was now nestled in his pocket. He brought his attention back to her and inadvertently, well, maybe not so much, took his own quick glance down the top of that green dress, {"well, wouldn't make sense not to; that would be suspicious, and not that she's 'iding much with it, anyways!"} and felt himself flush at his automatic response, which she was well close enough to notice. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a slight gleam of appreciation in her eyes now, looking at him.

She moved away, gathering the attention of a fat German civilian and his pouting blonde companion, then moving back to the stage to finish the song.

He took a deep breath and moved slowly over and past Garrison, bumping him slightly, signalling with a casual, pleasant nod of apology, hoping their commanding officer understood the message. Seemingly he did, for the signal was forwarded, and minutes later, the whole team was back in the staff car, Chief at the wheel. Goniff couldn't resist a quick look at Lynn, catching a sly grin in return.

"Goniff, was I right? You have it?? But how?"

"She slipped it to me during that last song. 'ere ya go, Warden, all right and tight!" as he handed over the film to his shocked commander.

Garrison thought to himself {"Shit! Were we that obvious? She shouldn't have even figured out he was part of the unit! I'll have to figure out how that happened. Yeah, it worked in our favor this time, but next time?? It could get someone killed!"}

Casino chimed in, "well that explains it! Was beginin' to wonder, her making over you like that. Hey, Actor, think you might be losin yer touch, her picking the Limey over you? Gotta great set of, uh, 'lungs' on her, don't she?" giving a quick glance over at the Warden's sister sitting in the back seat.

And, because he was Casino, just had to let the Englishman know his enthusiastic reaction had not gone unnoticed. "And if I were you, pal, I wouldn't get your 'hopes' up. I know you do second story work, but I think THAT 'second story' might be a little too much for you!" and roared with laughter.

Goniff grinned and shrugged, looking over at Lynn. "Maybe, maybe not," he proclaimed, to the laughs now filling the car, but his grin never dimmed, even as he shifted awkwardly in the seat.


	3. True Confession Is Good For The Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all!

She was back from Paris, but then left for a stint in Berlin, then back to Paris, and finally, finally! back to Brandonshire. Gone too long, to her way of thinking; certainly to his. He'd been back to the cottage more than once, only to be able to tell from the feel that she wasn't there. Then, she was back, and sitting there, guitar in hand, touching the strings carefully, then taking a hand away to write on her pad rapidly, then moving back to the strings. He watched and saw when she realized he was there. Her face was eager, and she sat the guitar aside, pushed the pad away and gathering her skirts in her hand, moved closer to the wall to look up at him. They didn't move then, him perched there, smiling down at her, her standing there, smiling at him in return. Then she let out a deep breath, as if she'd been holding it, as if she'd been waiting for him in order to really breathe again, and to her mind, perhaps that's what she'd been doing.

"Come down? I'll make tea, if you like," she offered, and he hurried to take her up on that. While she dashed inside, he moved to the table and glanced at the pad; full it was, notes and words and lines, but he didn't know how to make the lines and notes mean anything inside his head, and he thought it an intrusion to read the words unless she decided to share them. So he sat, relishing the quiet, the scent of the flowers, the peace, the anticipation of her return. She brought tea and scones, fresh baked from that morning, her way of celebrating being home again, after being away too long, being in the company of people she didn't want to be with, doing things that made her feel tired and sad and uncomfortable and in need of a good bath.

And the peace filled her, as well, enough that when he asked, "is that a new one? Is it finished or still some to do?" she had looked at him and wondered, wondered if this was one she could share. {"It's a risk, it could frighten him away, but I have to start somewhere, letting him know."}

So she took a deep breath, and said, "I think it's finished, do you want to hear it?" receiving his eager nod in return.

{"She's a little uneasy about this; don't know why. 'Er songs are always good, this one's bound to be too,"} but he did wonder at the slightly anxious look she gave him before she started. (Think 'But When I Dream').

And he listened, and sometime during the last verse, her eyes raised from the guitar and met his, and she finished the song, never taking her eyes away, just as she'd sung that last song to him in Paris. And when it was finished, he stood up and looked at her, and took the guitar out of her hands and set it aside, and kissed her, ever so lightly, ever so gently, and held her as she trembled in his arms, leaning in to him.

It took a voice from the gate to break the spell, "sorry, I really am, but the Warden needs us for a briefing, right away," and they turned to see the solemn, but sympathetic face watching them.

He gulped, and nodded, "be right there, Chiefy," and touched her face ever so gently, her moving to rub her cheek against his hand. And she watched as he left, by the gate this time, and she wasn't sure just what the tears in her eyes were from, but she didn't wipe them away, let them come, let them flow, and dry on her cheeks as they would. Later, as she surveyed the blotchy cheeks and reddened, swollen eyes, "should be glad he didn't see that, girl; you look a real mess, you do," but she smiled anyway, thinking of the moment that caused those tears, knowing she'd never regret that moment, no matter what.


	4. Just The Two Of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sisters knew something was going on, something good, but they'd never expected this!

Sometimes, when it was the two of them together, she thought she could feel the rest of the world just sliding away, disappearing out of the corner of her eye, and she made no attempt to call it back. Why would she, when being here, just the two of them, was so perfect, so exquisite that it actually hurt somehow. They both liked music, and she played for him often, and sang, but sometimes, many times she wanted to be in his arms and hear the music, and for then, there was the radio or the phonograph, and to have their own music meld with that music in the background, well that added a layer of sweetness to something she was already picturing as something similar to baklava, layer on layer on layer, rich, sweet and tangy, satisfying, full of texture, full of all she could want. Last night, last night had been just such a time, made even more poignant by his having to leave so early when the guys came to claim him.

Part of her wanted to think about after the war, when he could stay, not have to rush off into such danger, where she'd not have to dread the phone ringing, not have to fear what was happening to him, to them. But she knew better; she had to focus on now, on what she had, what they had together, not waste even a moment on the what-if's; the now was too precious, too precarious for that. She made a pot of coffee, poured a cup, looked at it.

When she came to her senses, the coffee was stone cold, in the cup and in the pot, and there it was in front of her, on the pad, lines, notes, words, and her lips trembled, because she didn't remember writing this. She played it, softly, and then, second time, she played it and sang the words, and knew them to be true, and real. She smiled, thinking of playing this for him, singing this one for him when he came home; wanting, perhaps for the first time, to have someone else play and sing this one, one of her private songs, while she danced in his arms to the melody, knowing it to be real. It had been years since she'd been comfortable with the thought of someone else singing the words she wrote, and she knew the healing had come even farther, thanks to him.

He'd come home, glory be, though sorely wounded, and her heart clinched at the misery he was in, at the thought of how just an inch or two would have made the difference and taken him from her, though she would have followed after him, there was no doubt of that; she'd not have let him make that cold journey into the next world alone - she'd promised him, promised herself. The Sergeant Major was being a dear and totally ignoring her spending so much time at the Mansion, despite regulations forbidding her to do so, and Dr Riley, well, he acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which to him, being Clan-related, it was. He'd have been shocked and dismayed, highly disapproving if she'd done anything otherwise. Craig was fine with it, relieved to have her so close while he was obliged to lead the rest of the team in mission after mission without their pickpocket. They had a couple of substitutes, and they did the job well enough, but all the guys admitted it wasn't the same, and that they'd be glad to get their Limey back to work again. As for him, he swung between misery at how he felt, worry about the guys, anxious about HQ deciding to pull the plug on him while he was healing, and more than a bit guilty about lazing here in the Mansion with his 'Gaida fussing over him, and at the same time, basking in her presence, her attentions.

He was pretty much back to normal, healing well, back into training, grumbling about the obstacle course, the running, just as he always did when he was past the danger point. Garrison wasn't sure if any of it was real; he rather thought it was more a point of honor, the grumping, the trying for a few more days of light duty. When he'd been hurt on a mission, still in the field, it was the other way around; their slight Englishman was more likely to hide just how badly he was hurt, do more than he should, more than he could, to protect the others, to be sure he wasn't a burden, so worried he was about failing the others. Garrison shook his head at the two so different pictures of the man he'd come to care for in ways he'd never thought possible.

When Goniff had taken off for an afternoon and evening with Meghada, though, he knew things were on the right track again; the sisters were in town, and for Goniff to submit to being in their combined, admittedly often overwhelming presence at the Cottage, well, he knew he'd have his own pickpocket back for the next mission. Garrison had a few mixed emotions about that as well. Yes, it would be good to have the missing part of the team back in harness again; but, part of him had been glad to have him back here, safe, out of harms way, where he knew Meghada would see that he was alright. It was hard, trying to reconcile the needs of the team, the need of a commander for a strong member of his team, and the need for the wellbeing of the one he loved. {"Almost as hard as it was to admit I loved him in the first place."}

At the Cottage, it was loud and confusing, and Goniff just grinned and sat back and enjoyed it, something he'd never thought he could do. Still, to see his Meghada teasing and laughing with her sisters, as they talked about things in their childhood, that was such an unexpected sight. He got the feeling her sisters were thinking the same, and he knew it to be so when Caeide pulled him into a warm hug, and kissed his cheek and whispered, "thank you for this, for giving her back to us!"

He wondered if he should tell her they'd met before, that he'd remembered her name, but then, the look in her eye, that grin, he knew he didn't have to, that she'd remembered too. When she laughed and said something about 'that time at the Bull', he just laughed too, and told her he'd been surprised Newkirk had let her out of her room after that, and the others looked at each other and then clambered for an explanation. They all enjoyed a good laugh at the expense of the tall Brit at his exposure to that little black dress and his resulting panic. Meghada laughed again, and shook her head, making note to ask her sister whether she thought this was a genetic predisposition, this attraction to Cockney pickpockets, and if so, what did that mean for Coura and Ciena.

Later, Coura and Ciena and Caedi worked their way through her piano bench, all the music, their eyes widening as they found song after song after song, new ones, all hers, and this time it was Ciena who came to him, kissing him on the cheek, "you did this, you know. We will always love you for this, aside from all else, that you gave her the music again!" He flushed, didn't know what to say, but she didn't seem to expect him to say anything, so that was alright. He didn't rightly think he'd done anything, but somehow he knew he wouldn't be able to convince them of that.

Late into the evening, young Coura pulled out one song, the one his 'Gaida had written after he left on that last mission, and said, "Meghada, may I play this one? I want to hear how it sounds. And, I'd like to see how it is to dance to. Would you two be up to that?" looking at him with those so innocent eyes, eyes he'd soon realize were so deceiving. (Think 'Slow Dancing') He flushed, thinking to say no, but looked at Meghada, to see the longing he'd not expected to see there.

"Would you like that, luv?" he asked, only to see the burst of joy in her eyes, ahead of her eager nod. So he stood and gathered her into his arms, and Coura played the introduction, then the song, and he lost himself in her arms, in her eyes, and he knew that it was right, this song; that it was right, them in each other's arms. They never noticed when their arms, their hands shifted, when her arms moved to around his neck, to when his arms went around her waist, snugged her close, and the sisters watching, they exchanged a knowing smile, knowing it was right, both them and the song.

When they later danced to that same song at the pub, Coura again playing and singing, there was no one in the room who didn't understand what was being said. Not everyone might approve, but there was no one who failed to understand.


	5. How Did It Go So Wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two tired people, a misunderstanding - will they be able to bring things around to where they should be before they lose something so important to both of them?

The sisters were here, coming for the music they'd either requested to borrow or commissioned specially for their needs. Kevin Richards and his sister Julie were here also, one of those 'needs' being a mission Ciena would be involved in. Julie had heard about the music, had badgered her brother til he included her in the group. Meghada didn't go on missions anymore; her Contract period was up, and besides, her speed, her flexibility had been damaged, maybe not a lot, but certainly some, after that mountain had dropped on her. She had plenty to keep her busy; to the outside view, she tended the Cottage, its gardens, trained the small dog Max, catered to the guys when they were in residence. Other than that, there was much she did that couldn't come to the general eye, including that of HQ, translating, coding, decoding she did for the Underground, some of the special units, the Maquis, and others.

Somehow, in the midst of all that, she continued with the music, as well as the fiction writing which now captured her imagination as well; the publisher in London was agog over the draft of the first book in what she thought might prove to be a series. While on a mission, in fact the one where he'd come back into contact with Peter Newkirk after so many years, she'd told him she wrote all her verses for him, and that had been true then, but that wasn't the case anymore. She'd told him later, when the healing had been enough so that she could start writing for others as well. The music, well, sometimes when her sisters, her cousins wanted, needed a piece, they could sort through her library and find what they needed; sometimes, they couldn't, and she was back to writing on special commission now. In fact, that had almost caused a problem with Goniff, though luckily they understood each other well enough to put a halt to that right at the beginning. 

He'd been away on a mission, had come back over the wall, into the Cottage to hear her in the shower. Taking a deep breath, he smiled to himself and thought of how good it was to be here again, the place he was thinking of as home anymore, if only because it was where SHE was, and he'd gradually realized that where she was, well that WAS home. He laughed to himself when he remembered that line 'wherever she was, there was Eden', from one of those readings of theirs, Diaries of Adam and Eve, it'd been, by Mark Twain, and he snorted to think of how Actor would react to HIM reading any such, reading and enjoying even.

He'd poured himself a drink, wandered into the sitting room, picked up the music pad from the piano bench thinking to see what she was writing now, always eager to see her new songs, and went still, feeling sick inside. He sat down heavily, {"can't be reading this right, can't!"} and finding he was having trouble breathing. Those words, the words to both songs - so sad, so full of loss - recounting a love that died, no one knows how, just one day it was gone, and the singer trying to figure out how to get out of something she just didn't want or need anymore, wondering how will she explain. ( Think 'You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore' and 'Where Will The Words Come From') He sat, drink forgotten on the small table beside him, staring at the music pad, wondering just how it could have gone so wrong, how he hadn't seen it happening, what he could have done, how he could have . . .

She walked out of the shower and felt him there, and grinned to herself, hurrying to dry off and slip into a loose dress and slippers. She hurried only to stop suddenly at the sight of him sitting there, still, hunched.

"Love? What . . .?" to see him turn to her, his face, white with shock, eyes wide, hurt pouring off him like a stream. She hurried to him, knelt down, touched him.

"What? What's happened??!", thinking bad news had come about his Mum, his Aunt Mollie, or something had happened to one of the guys, and without a word he handed her the pad. She took it from him, frowned at it, puzzled, recognizing it as the songs Ciena had asked her to write for that nightclub she was headed to, wondering why . . .

Then she understood, and she went limp, and told him quickly, urgently, "laddie, it's a commission, just that, no more. Oh, love, look, to the top, at the right. See, I always note those, the ones I write at someone's request - "C" for commission, and the name of who it's for! On the file, it's in the library, on the desk, you'll see the notes of what she wanted the song to be," and she got up from her knees to fetch it, almost stumbling and falling in her haste to relieve his mind, place it in his trembling hands. His eyes blinked rapidly at her, looked at and read the lines of notes in the file; he ran his fingers over the note at the top of the music, "C - Ciena".

He was trembling now, and he swallowed deeply as if it hurt to do so, and she knew there weren't any words, not for now, so she drew the music and the file away, and sat them back on the piano bench, and eased herself into the big chair next to him, and their arms were around each other, and they both shook with reaction to what he'd thought had happened, with what he thought he'd lost. Later, much later, she raised her head from his shoulder and ran her finger along his cheekbone, "that will never be us, believe that, laddie, believe that as much as I do!"

And when in her remorse for his anguish, she started to promise never to write for anyone else, ever again, only him, he chuckled at her, though not quite as easily as before, the bruises still there, still hurting even though he knew now there was no cause, that the stones had not been real, put his fingers across her lips, "Luv, you write what you need to write. I'll not be such a fool next time; I know what to look for." And his pale blue eyes looked into hers, "I know what to believe," and he pulled her close, his lips touching hers, seeking, finding his home, his solace.


	6. Shock Therapy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Kevin allows his sister Julie to push a few too many buttons with the O'Donnell sisters, they deliver a little shock therapy. As he soon discovers, it's not only Julie who feels the shock!

Now, they were all at the Mansion, Goniff and the guys in the common room while the sisters and Lynn were in the music room, tinkering with the piano and the guitars and everything else; since the sisters had started using the room, along with Lynn and Craig, the number and variety of instruments had grown, even included an odd combination of drums, even a set of bagpipes! Kevin Richards had just arrived with his sister Julie and Garrison had gone to meet them.

"I hadn't expected to see either of you here today," Garrison had said, puzzled at their appearance.

"Well, Ciena had mentioned to Kevin that she was picking up music for Meghada and practicing here, and I've heard so much about her song writing, I pressured Kevin into bringing me and letting me have a listen," came as a laugh, not quite a giggle but close, from Julie. Garrison had often thought Julie carried silly to an unnecessary extreme; he didn't think she was unintelligent, just appallingly foolish.

Kevin Richards looked apprehensive, which seemed to be his usual look when surrounded by the O'Donnell sisters along with his own. Garrison thought it was the look of a man in the presence of not one, but several, ticking bombs, knowing there was no escape, just wondering which one was going to finish him. Actually, he kinda agreed, and wondered why the officer just didn't refuse to let his sister pressure him into these ill-advised ventures. 

The guys heard them coming up the stairs, and Casino asked Goniff, "whadda ya think they want of the girls? Thought they were supposed to be going over music this afternoon?"

The slender Englishman shrugged, "that was the idea; always interesting when you get the girls and the Major and 'is sister together, though," with a sly grin.

All of the sisters tended to react rather impetuously when faced with Julie's foolishness; she somehow pushed all their buttons, and what ones she didn't push, it seemed the Major did. He remembered the last time quite well; he'd gotten more than a few heavy-handed advances from those society ladies, friends of Julie's, after Meghada had called him her 'all-night-man', along with a few other little 'secrets' she'd let slip about his abilities, talents and such. He thought they'd missed the real meaning of that; if nothing else, they seemed to have missed the 'HER' part of it, didn't quite understand that he was HER all-night-man. For a bit, he was more sought after than Actor, though the fact that he didn't succumb to any of the blandishments put paid to that pretty fast. He didn't mind; he was well satisfied as it was, and didn't need the aggravation, though the look on the guys' faces, well, that had been funny as hell when those hoity dames had just walzed past them to gather round the 'little Limey'.

Garrison showed the two into the music room, where they were greeted in a somewhat distracted manner by the sisters who were sorting thru sheet music, debating possible changes, timing, up tempo's, cut ins, that sort of thing. Lynn was listening, finding it all rather fascinating, but remaining still, not disturbing them. Julie took in the scene, organized confusion at its best, the various instruments, the sheets of music and all, everyone busy and focused, and just waded right in, to Kevin's dismay. He knew nothing good came from that! 

"Kevin says you've been writing songs or sometimes making special arrangements for them, Meghada, for the girls to use, and I told him I absolutely had to hear them! I've heard you are quite the master, or should I say the mistress," with a high-pitched giggle that made everyone cringe.

"Well," Meghada started to reply, only to have Coura take over. That made the other sisters cringe all over again, knowing Coura as they did!

"Oh, some of the songs Meghada already has written or worked over, sometimes from personal experience, you know. We come down, browse through her stash, and usually find what we need, and ask her pretty please if we can use it. Sometimes it's a song we've heard somewhere else, and we need her to do a special arrangement of it for us. If we can't find what we need in her stash or elsewhere,then we tell her just what we're looking for, and she writes it for us. She writes the music and the words, helps us with the delivery, the choreography, if there's dancing or stage management involved. But, you're right, she's very, very good! There's no question of that!"

And she smiled the broadest, most innocent smile at Julie, and Meghada wanted to dive for cover. She knew that smile, in fact had seen it in the mirror the evening she put that live eel, well, two of them actually, in her brother Patrick's bed! She'd been just about Coura's age when that had happened, if she remembered right.

Julie enthusiastically agreed she wanted to hear it all. Kevin knew this was trouble, if only by the look on Meghada's face, clearly to be interpreted by anyone who really knew her as her 'oh shit, here it comes!' look and the sheer deviltry on Coura and Ciena's faces. They were all seated in chairs now, well spaced out, many feet back from the piano, Coura saying they needed 'room' for proper expression. Garrison was backing up toward the door to the common room, as far as he could without actually leaving the room. He didn't want to be in any way involved in their 'expression'! He'd had some experience with the sisters in action, after all. In the common room, there was silence.

Ciena took over, with a wink from Coura, "these first two, well, I'd heard them elsewhere, but I asked her to put something together for me. She hasn't completed the new arrangements, so she'll have to sing those for you the way the original singer did. She does that very well, you know. (Think 'Smoke Gets In Your Eyes - Ertha Kitt' and Soul on Fire - LaVerne Baker',) 

"Ciena, I don't think . . ."

"Oh, please, Meghada, I'd love to hear you sing!" Julie gushed, and Meghada glanced at the doorway, to see that gamin grin with the outright challenge implied by that arched right brow, and the eager looks on his friends, and she just gave in. She ended the first song to a pleasing response, and switched gears for the second one. The guys were grinning from ear to ear; they all remembered the last time they'd heard her sing those two songs, at that nightclub in Paris, and from the gleam in Casino's eyes, he was remembering that low cut tight green dress too! The shock on Julie's face was delightful! When she finished, she glanced over to Ciena, handing it back to her.

Coura spoke up, "I'm at a club for a few weeks, back in the States, Nashville, and they have a very different perspective, different needs. I couldn't find what I wanted, so she found these for me. (I'm thinking Carrie Underwood, Tanya Tucker - Think. 'Before He Cheats' and 'Dirty Laundry', and 'Two Black Cadillacs' followed by 'I'll Come Back as Another Woman!').

She swung into that sequence, and the guys felt themselves shrink just a bit, well, more than a bit. They looked at Goniff, Casino looking his apprehension, and Goniff grinned, shrugged, "only a problem if you really cross em, mates." He chuckled to himself, seeing the reaction the guys were having. Yes, he could see one of the women, hell, the whole bloody lot of them, really letting loose on someone trying to do them over, though he didn't think any of the sisters would take up with someone that stupid. For himself, well, HE certainly wasn't that bloody stupid! He knew his luck had finally changed. He'd found the love of his life, well, actually, the two loves of his life, and both of them FINE with that! and he had no intention nor any need to muck it all up! And if he ever tried, well, he'd give them permission to bring him back to his senses right fast, he would! Though he rather hoped they'd just give him a stern scolding before bringing out the heavy artillery. Or the big cars!

"Well, this one, she had something close, as far as the music was concerned, but the words didn't have quite the tone of what I wanted, needed, so she located this one for me. See what you think!" and Ciena and Coura moved to a position in front of the piano, while Meghada and Caeide exchanged looks and took their positions at their instruments. In the common room, the guys were quiet, listening, and then it began. The unrelenting strong beat, the drive of the music. (Think 'Fire').

Goniff's eyes got wide and he quickly moved to the doorway, and seeing his response, exchanging looks, they scrambled to follow him, and they watched as the two sisters proceeded to basically seduce Kevin Richards in every way possible without the possibility of a paternity suite, though Casino said he was even wondering about that, considering that last move of Ciena's, her leaning over, into Richards, actually straddling his lap, stroking his lower lip, leaning in, not touching, but only missing that by a fraction, and the tension of arousal now apparent in the room. Julie was sitting there, her face impossible to describe.

Then, the music stopped and the sisters were back to their pleasant, cheerful matter-of-fact selves, and the guys hustled to get back into the common room before they could be discovered staring.

Major Richards, he was looking like he'd been hit with a cosh, maybe the one he was now apparently storing in his uniform trousers! Garrison had no intention of meeting his eye anytime soon, though he didn't think that'd be a problem; the Major didn't look like he could even breathe right now, much less move his head. Somehow it didn't help when they swung immediately into 'Hot Stuff'. Ciena let them all get their breath, recover their composure before she delivered the coupe de grace. 

"Now, this one, I found in her stash, and she finally said I could borrow it, but I'll tell you, it took some doing before she agreed," Ciena told them cheerfully. "She's a bit reluctant about sharing the more 'personal' ones, the ones that are just between them, you know, and Goniff is a little shy about them, I think, which is just so sweet! but I just kept after her til she gave in, because THIS one, I just HAD to sing; it's just so perfect, you know??! I mean, you can actually SEE that garden in the moonlight, can't you??!"

Well, that amount of gushing, and that explanation, that got everyone's attention, and the men in the Common Room were giving their English friend a questioning look to which he gave a wide eyed, innocent shrug. Chief mouthed over at Goniff, "Shy??? Sweet???" to get a look that had nothing of shyness or sweetness in it, just pure deviltry, pure amusement. Now three of the women were at instruments, including the drums. Ciena was alone in front, perched on one hip on a high stool, slight smile on her face, lids lowered over her eyes, hands caressing the microphone, which both Garrison and Richards REALLY wished she'd stop doing. (Before the song was finished, they weren't the only ones!)

And the music started, her swaying gently to the beat, and the guys looked at Goniff's face, at the shocked recognition apparent there, then the way his pale blue eyes squeezed shut before they opened again to stare somewhere down towards the table, that totally shit-eating grin, beyond anything they'd seen before, along with that flushed face, his constant shaking of his bent head, it now leaning into his joined hands, and they knew, THIS ONE, they just HAD to hear! AND see!

And in the next room, (think 'Slow Hand'), the singing started, sometimes only one voice, sometimes all of the sisters, and Julie Richards, well, it was possible she would never be quite the same again. She didn't say another word, from the time the song ended, to the time she was handed into the car, to the time she was escorted to the door of her apartment by her brother, to when she went in and closed the door in his face, all without a single word. Well, Garrison had a pretty good idea how she was feeling; he'd had a pretty strong reaction to that one himself, and with a hell of a lot more cause! 

Back in the silent Common Room, no one had been able to think of one single thing to say after that song had ended, though several mouths had opened, paused, then closed again, thinking better of whatever they'd thought about saying.

Casino kept thinking about the words, sure, but the body language, her hands, her thumb stroking that microphone, that sway of her body, and he let out a groan. "Shit, they really shouldn't be allowed out loose, you know??!" and he had considerable agreement, though Goniff just kept grinning that smug grin that made them want to slap him upside his head.

Garrison had come through the door after seeing the guests out and gone. He had a bottle of bourbon in his hand, poured a glass for each of them, and with a knowing twinkle in his green eyes and a grin on his lips, said, "Gentlemen, a toast," raising his glass to his pickpocket, who was now bright red but with that grin still on his face. And the glasses were raised with a hearty, "here, here", "you said it, babe!", "got THAT right!".

"You know, luv, I think that last one, maybe you shouldn't loan that one out again," he gasped, once he had enough air to do that much.

"Well, but she asked so prettily," she responded faintly, not having enough breath to say much more, not wanting or needing to say much more. It was a long time till morning, and she intended to make as much of this night as was possible, and with him, much, oh so very much was possible! He made sure of that, bless him!

And at her side, green eyes shone and the laughter started, well, as much as he had breath for, being rather short-winded himself right now, and Craig Garrison thought back to the looks on Kevin Richards' face, on his sister's face, and thought, {"and they don't know the half of it!"} and moved to take the lead, giving the other two time to recover, just a bit; Goniff would be back in command soon, and that's the way Craig and Meghada preferred it, but for now, Craig could keep things moving right along. After all, they had the time, they had all night.


	7. Out Of The Mouth Of Babes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When HQ co-opts Coura for a dangerous mission targeting a Columbian drug lord, Major Kevin Richards is furious, and the guys right along with him. Once she delivers a sample of her entree into the depraved world of Domingo San Rafael, 'furious' isn't the only word for their reactions, with 'confusion' being right up close to the top of the list.

"You are sending her up against WHO??!"

They were all furious, appalled, as they realized the young Coura, youngest of the O'Donnell sisters, well except for the young Jamie Eloise, still well less than six months old and thus not so likely to drive them all nuts, was being sent in to take down Domingo San Rafael, notorious Columbian drug lord, newly found friend of the madman in Berlin.

"Do you think it was my idea? I didn't even know what was in the works til they had it all set up!" came back fast and furious from a tight faced Kevin Richards. "Some genius in HQ decided it would work, and that she was the ideal agent to pull it off after she pulled our chestnuts out of the fire with that Germany nightclub fiasco. No matter we don't have a contract with the Clan for her services, no matter she's just turned fifteen! Seems that's part of the draw, he only likes the young ones. Any older, he has no interest." And the look on his face, no one had any doubts he'd fought against this, with HQ, with her; he'd determined, after that last time in Berlin, at the Tripoli and the Parisian, that she was OUT of this, totally; now, finding out HQ had gone behind his back and pulled her back in, he was livid.

Coura explained why she was there, picking up music she hoped would get her the 'in' she needed. "He likes the young ones, yes, and I'm at the upper edge and look older still, so I'll have to use what I learned for Internship, how to project 'younger and more innocent, more helpless'."

Casino, despite his worry, had to snort; there were a heck of a lot of words for Coura O'Donnell, in his mind; 'helpless', well that hadn't been on his list, any more than 'innocent' was! She grinned over at him, knowing exactly what he was thinking; they were far too much alike, the two of them; if they hadn't been, well, she'd have taken a closer look, maybe more; he was certainly appealing in many ways, but they'd drive each other crazy, she knew, or else take over the world, and she thought that was more responsibility than she wanted.

"Okay, a LOT more helpless and innocent! Anyway, he likes the ones who can sing, too, and preferably who can perform in public," and at the agonized groan from Richards, she frowned up at him.

"Kevin, will you calm down??! Perform music, you idiot! At the Deluca Club in Cartegena, to be exact. It's outre, to be sure, but not THAT much so!! It's not the Diabliatre, after all, where 'performing' in public is much more in line with what you were just thinking!"

That got everyone's attention. It seemed the whole dynamic between those two had changed since the last time they'd seen them together, and changed a heck of a lot if she was now calling him an idiot in public and him seeming to take it in stride!

"I've checked, and the ones he's picked in the past, they form a pretty reliable pattern. He likes the ones who emphasize how he sees himself; not as he really IS, of course, but how he SEES himself. You see, in his mind, he's not some degenerate violent murdering drug lord; he thinks of himself as a 'hero', a modern day 'knight', bigger than life. Would you believe he even collects medieval armor? AND had a set made just to fit him??!"

At the sight of the incredulous faces around the room, she made a face and shrugged, "Yes, I know; it's amazing how self delusional THAT is! But, since that IS how he sees himself, I had Megada come up with something so TOTALLY over the top, either I'm a shoo-in to grab his attention, or he shoots me right there for making fun of him. But I'm betting on the first; I really think this is exactly how he sees himself, how he'd think a woman, more importantly, how a young girl should see him! No need to tell him that Meghada and I couldn't stop laughing all the time she was putting the finishing touches on this bit of bullshit! You should have seen us all, coming up with all the words, the images to push the illusion, to drive it, and those words fit just as well as some of the others we used," with an amused laugh. 

She was dressed simply, her hair pulled back with a band, flowing around her, only a touch of lipstick on her face. And she nodded to the others, and they started the heavy, driving, pulsing music, and she shifted into the 'younger, more innocent' version of herself, and started her performance. (Think 'I Need A Hero') She was almost stationery, legs apart, arms close, hands clenching that microphone, singing directly into it, her eyes focused intensely on the spot directly in front of her. Somehow, the frenetic music, the movement behind her made her taut stance even more telling. She finished, to the stunned faces in her audience. That innocent appearance matched with that totally, well, there was no good word for that performance, it was beyond words. Except, Richards came up with one. 

"No." It came out flatly, no inflection, with no expression on his face, none at all. Just that one word.

She frowned, "you think the song won't work, or is there something wrong with my delivery? Tell me, we'll work to fix it."

"No. You're not fixing a damned thing; you're not going to Columbia; you are bloody hell not getting up on a stage and singing THAT to some bastard like San Rafael, and then heading off to that estate of his where who knows what can happen! Do you understand me, Coura; you are NOT DOING ANY OF THAT!!!"

The no-inflection had changed to an ever louder, ever more furious voice that at the end was a shout. No one said a word, no one moved. 

As impressive as his reaction had been, her response, well it had even more of an impact on those watching and listening; was more shocking to them. She shook her head slightly, laid the microphone aside, that microphone she'd clutched, caressed so suggestively, walked up to him and put her hand in the middle of his chest, and her voice was soft, and reassuring and gentle.

"Shhh, don't fuss so, Kevin. We'll talk about it on the way home, it'll be fine," smiled up at him, a look both tender and serene, and the look of total helpless frustrated bewilderment on his face was almost more than they could take in.

Goniff turned his head, questioning, to see Meghada fighting a grin, shaking her head ever so slightly. Garrison thought back to the time he'd considered setting Coura on Richards as payback, as distraction, and wondered if someone else had done what he'd never dared to actually do. Looked again, and had to think, {"is she really THAT good an actress??!"} for that look, that tenderness, that, dare he say it, love?, well, he couldn't see a speck of pretense in it. And looking at the Major's face, Garrison didn't know if that was a good thing, or not. One way or another, Kevin Richards' world had shifted, there was no doubt about that.


End file.
